


angel in disguise | loki x reader [ anger/hopelessness ]

by lando_cal_rice_ian



Series: angel in disguise [2]
Category: Marvel, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Heavy Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-27 00:46:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17152142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lando_cal_rice_ian/pseuds/lando_cal_rice_ian
Summary: fluff and angst - bruce and loki comfort you in moments of hopelessness or anger.





	angel in disguise | loki x reader [ anger/hopelessness ]

**Author's Note:**

> TUMBLR REQUEST: […] May I request Loki and/or Bruce Banner (Mark Ruffalo version) of how they would comfort you when you were angry or hopeless with hugs and romantic fluffyness (please and thank you)!! […] - tinkerbelldetective
> 
> OKAY BUT THERE IS, LIKE, NO FLUFF IN THIS. I MADE IT SO ANGSTY IT'S JUST SAD AF.

**UNEDITED**

There had been enough ruin and despair throughout centuries and, as an Asgardian warrior, it shouldn’t have crushed you quite so much now. But, it did – it always did. Battles had been won on the blood spilt from both friend and foe, each life lost a harsh weight that grew heavier and heavier throughout your life.

And then, came Loki’s betrayal.

The fall of New York still haunted you. Months passed, life drifted on, uncaring and forgetful; new horrors, new concerns to focus on. But you,  _you_ could never forget.

Thor’s search for Loki had brought him to Midgard, and you, the brothers’ closest childhood confidante, had followed. That God of Mischief, to whom you had once promised your heart, loved and cherished and almost worshipped,  _infuriated_ you beyond belief now. His hunger for greatness, for a crown and people to subjugate, had overcome the memory of the sweet prince you had fallen in love with. There, where at last you witnessed Midgardian mortality, you saw Loki in a new light:  _monster_ , you recoiled,  _snake, murderer—_

_Laufeyson!_

Where your heart ached for mankind’s suffering, and loved them for their courage and tenacity, Loki had come to think them beneath him – and you hated him for it.

After returning to Asgard with him in chains, you resolved to never see his face again, to never take his name, to never even think of him. But Thor had different ideas.

Trailing behind Jane, with Lady Sif at your side, the three of you happened upon Thor in the corridors of the palace. The shock hit you at once, its crushing weight halting your steps and pushing the air out from your lungs. For there, standing beside him, was no one else, but  _Loki_.

He was supposed to rot in his cell. Far from the world, imprisoned so he could not be unleashed and wreak havoc once more. Had he escaped, you thought. But then why was Thor not detaining him immediately?

You watched from afar as Jane and Sif walked on, the mortal woman’s strides determined, each footfall heavy with fury. Suddenly, her fist lashed out. The punch landed, its collision with Loki’s face leaving you all stunned. And, though you were dazed, you found yourself snickering.

“That was for New York,” Jane bit out. She glowered up at the god.

It was no surprise that the god of mischief answered with a smile, a grin that would have once excited you, made your heart flutter. No, not  _once.._.

Despite yourself, you felt your heart flutter again.

“I like her,” he said. You hadn’t heard his voice in so long. It was still smooth, like velvet and silk, a soft caress that you felt even from where you stood.

His gaze strayed, in curiosity shifting to the lone figure he spied from the corner of his eyes – and he froze. Much to your displeasure, your eyes locked. In a moment his smile had waned. He blinked, and he blinked again, again and again and again, as if he couldn’t quite believe he was seeing you. As if you were a ghost, an apparition… a vision he had conjured up in his cell far too often… who now walked the halls, whole, solid,  _real_.

The crack of your knuckles was almost too loud in the quiet that befell the hall as you clenched your hands. You glared at him; but could not find the courage to approach – to shout at him, to curse him, to hit him.

Never would you admit it, but you didn’t just hate him for his tyranny, for his blind hunger for power… you hated him,  _most_ , for breaking your heart. How long had you mourned his fall from the Bifrost, before discovering he had not died? Before realising he had not, and would not, return for you. That he chose not to.

It dawned on you in those minutes as the tense atmosphere in the hall thickened, that this was why Thor had not asked for your help against the Dark Elves. Thor, ever an attentive friend, did not want Loki anywhere near you. Because, to subject you to Loki’s presence, when your heart was not yet mended, would be  _torture_.

When Thor followed Loki’s gaze, feeling the shift in the air, he saw you. The Crown Prince lowered his face, both a bow in greeting, and an attempt to hide his guilt, as you returned the gesture, unable to shake the stiffness from your form. Then, in a hurry, you left the hall, striding through its labyrinths to your chambers far from the group – far from  _him_.

As the doors slammed shut behind you, the groan of the ancient wood echoing your ire, you hissed, “I hope that snake dies.”

 

* * *

 

And he did.

There was a weight on Thor’s shoulders that far outweighed what burdens he had carried in his past when he returned after the war. He pulled you close, silent for what felt like eons, face buried so tight against your neck that you felt the touch of his tears as if they were a part of your own skin.

“Loki is gone, [Y/N],” he at last whispered, hesitant, broken. “He protected me. And he… he  _died_.”

The relief you had expected to feel did not come. He was dead, you told yourself, as your feet carried you to a destination you were not quite aware of, he could no longer hurt others, could no longer cause mischief, could no longer plot and scheme and stab those who loved him in the back—

But, no, you did not feel at ease.

Instead, you found yourself in Loki’s old chambers, sinking to the floor of the balcony, where his and your childhood drawings still remained. And, you cried. Mourning him once had been difficult enough; twice was crushing, twice was  _cruel_.

Despite Loki’s faults, he was loved. He had always been loved; by Frigga; by Thor. And, gods, you had loved him too.

Perhaps, while tracing the drawing of you and him from eons passed, as children holding hands and smiling, you realised you  _still love him_ … and, having redeemed himself, you  _always would_.

With Thor you mourned Loki. But, then, Thor was gone, disappeared to Midgard, and then to find answers to questions you were not even aware of. Loneliness bit deep. Then, there was a shift in the All-Father. He became softer, gentler, tender in his attentions, as if he were your own father. He grieved with you, and there was a sorrow you did not often see in the militant king that spoke, silently, of a broken heart.

He would often send you gifts, fruits and meats, silks among shield and swords, and books to keep you company when you were sad.  

It surprised you. The king had never been quite so attentive before.

But, you did not know. It was not  _Odin_.

It was Loki.

From his throne, Loki watched beneath his mask of magic, noting the pull of facial muscles that showed each emotion that flickered over your features, hands clenching and unclenching around his armrests, restless in his desire to hold you, to tell you he was alive, to apologise and tell you he loved you more than anything else in existence.

Your eyes met. And there was the unmistakeable glint of tears in the king’s unwounded eye.

_You cannot let [Y/N] go_ , Loki thought. He struggled to keep the magic up in a moment of distress.  _Not again. If I do, I’ll lose [her/him/them],_ forever _._

You smiled, inclined your head in respect, and returned to your dinner, turning to the warrior beside you to resume your conversation.

_Fool!_  Loki might have slammed his sceptre onto the marble floor if he was not accustomed to reining in his emotions.  _I_ have  _lost [her/him/them]. I lost [Y/N] long ago. There is nothing I can do. [She/He/They] [respects/respect] you again after the staged sacrifice. If I showed myself to [her/him/them] now, I will return to a villain in [her/his/their] eyes. There is nothing I can do now, not as [her/his/their] beloved._

But, as Odin, as the All-Father, he could watch over you, protect you, make sure you were content and happy. He treated you as Odin might have, had you been his own. It was the only way Loki could be near you; be kind to atone for his sins.

And it hurt him, to see you move on, to not be able to confess his feelings. Remaining dead in your eyes when he was alive and in love was  _excruciating_. But, perhaps, it was his most fitting punishment, for all that he had done.

If, even behind an illusion, Loki could make you smile, see you safe, then maybe he  _could_ finally be content after all.


End file.
